The Ride to Mexico

By Paul Lawless

Three survivors from a bank thieving gang who take the place of three soldiers in order to escape the posse , but they are safe riding with the twenty soldiers because Apaches are killing and stealing, so they must fight the Apache and posse and the soldiers in order to escape to Mexico

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pale Horse Publications
• Release date: May 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224495672

Paul Lawless

Paul Lawless was born in Liverpool, England in 1958. He spends a lot of time volunteering for charities in Liverpool. He's a lover of animals, reading, writing novels and poems. He's also member of an Unitarian Church in Liverpool which takes up a lot of his time.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

The Ride to Mexico

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Also By Paul Lawless

About the Author

About the Publisher

THE RIDE TO MEXICO

PAUL LAWLESS

Copyright © 2017 by Paul Lawless

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copywritten material.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

This book may contain views, premises, depictions, and statements by the author that are not necessarily shared or endorsed by Pale Horse Publications.

For information contact: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Michael Thomas

Cover design by Pale Horse Publications

Published by Pale Horse Publications

January 2022

10987654321

CHAPTER ONE

Tabletop

The dust from the horses kicks up into the air, so selfishly, like a child having a tantrum. While the twenty-two men continue to weary ride their horses towards the town called, Tabletop. Their breathing is so shallow and so painfully laboured. The horses’ tired legs crush and flatten the short red and green grass underneath their feet so heartlessly. Some drops of unloved sweat run down the horses’ bodies so forlornly. Some of the drops of sweat discharge themselves towards the impatient dry grass. While some brown birds wait so patiently in the clear blue sky for some insects. That is hiding among the short red and green grass. Captain Adam Parmelee holds the reins so tightly. That he can now feel the reins cutting so painfully into his fingers. It is too much for him to bear any longer. He longs to yell out with pain, but he must be an example to his men. He can feel and sense the strong desire to stop the men, now. But he must resist this desirable temptation. But he cannot for his body and mind are demanding that he stops. So, the captain alters the squad just outside the town. The Captain takes his hands off the reins so gratefully and he merely raises his left hand so slowly towards his hat. Then he merely breathes so restlessly and wearily. Then the Captain takes his hat off his wet grey and red hair. This action is done so restlessly and so slowly. He holds and squeezes the hat so dreamily. While he feels the tormenting shame. He slowly wipes his right hand over his head, several times. Each time the captain performs this action it is so mindfully painful. While his dry mouth torments him so twistedly. He spies on the drops of sweat on his fingers. It is if he can discover some answers in the sweat. He sighs so restlessly. He fights to control his manipulative dark emotions. Those dark emotions have been feeding on him more and more since leaving the Fort Griffin early this morning. He tries to slow down his emotional painful breathing. If only Maggie was still breathing, instead of being in her grave. Five years it is now, since that dark Sunday morning when he discovered her hanging. It was, recently decorated, in the front room of their shallow and small living quarters. In all the years he was married to Maggie. He was never filled with any certainty that he did love, her. Even on discovering her hanging body not one tear did come down his face. While the rain outside the window was crying so sorrowfully.  He puts his hat back on so hurriedly. He briefly closes his eyes as if by doing so he can drown out the nightmare. Before opening them once again. So, he orders the squad to move on towards the town. While the brown birds dive towards the vacated part of the short red and green grass. The sounds of dying bleaches into the very air.

The squad reaches the very edge of the town. The odours of the town are penetrating their nostrils so calmly and so callously. While the brown birds evacuate from the short red and green grass because their savagery has been more than satisfied for now. They enter the town. So slowly and so in doubt and with some courage. The cold, harsh flies dance down Abbey Street. This is the main street in the town of Tabletop. The twenty-two soldiers are riding down this street. They are locked and sealed in their own individual thought and emotions. Their thoughts are covered in drops of sweat and pain. There is haunting tiredness in their cold, cynical eyes. The sound of the horses reverberates down the street so casually. Their blue shirts, trousers, and blue hats are covered in dust and sweat. They are making women, children and men stop on the boardwalks on both sides of the street. While their clothing is covered in smelly sweat. There is so much haunting shame in the faces of the women. For the ugly, cold sweat stains on their clothing. There are sounds of wedding bells beating out, contrasting with the drunk men singing, so evocatively and icily. The sun is high in the sky. It is beating down so mitigating. This is making breathing so difficult and extraneous. Some of them are glad to see these soldiers, but some are still bitter in their attitudes towards the blue boys because of the civil war. (A couple of children have jumped into the street, so they can pick up some small red and grey rocks, so they can use them for weapons. There is pure loathing playing in their eyes.) Because the bloody, murdering civil war is still felt so fresh in their minds and in their dark restless emotions. Their minds are so full and filled with unforgiving hatred towards them, despite the war being over for twelve years now. But some hatreds are never given up. Only they grow so much more permanent and more hardened. Until it becomes so hopeless to disconcert truth anymore.

The twenty-two horses stop and line up outside the Red Dawn saloon as dust floats of the men’s and horses' bodies. So, polluting the very air. The horses are so fatigued. Their white cloudy breath is casting out into the air. While a dog is barking from somewhere. The Red Dawn saloon is a monstrous building on three levels. It is by the far the tallest building in the town of Tabletop. It is the milestone of the town. The building looks so sad like its best years have gone like an old dancer thinking about their glory years, now, that their days are filled with so much sadness. Captain Adam Parmelee sits on his brown horse. He is trying so desperately to appear that he is a confident officer.  He is waiting newspapers up and down the street. The Captain waits in share tiredness that is teasing his relentless boredom. His breathing is reeking of days old whiskey and his face desperately needs shaving. He cannot wait for the next ten weeks to end. When he retires for good from this godforsaken army. Then he can simply enjoy his army pension after twenty bloody wasted years. He watches the lieutenant and the Sergeant moving towards the Red Dawn saloon. While he tries so desperately to stop thinking on the whiskey. The last few drops of whiskey in the bottle. The bottle is hiding inside his grey, weary saddlebag that is whispering inside his raw emotion. His left-hand rest so tenderly on the saddlebag, now while he merely watches the lieutenant and the sergeant stand in front of the blue and red doors then he sees them opening the doors and then he sees them so enter the saloon as the last few drops of whiskey demand some attention like a child demanding the attention of its mother.

The sounds of men talking, walking, moving glasses, drinking beer and whiskey so restlessly enter their ears. While they stand in front of the doors. The smell of cigarettes and horse dampness plagues the inside of the saloon. Their strong and weary eyes penetrate deep into the inner working of the saloon. There are twenty customers inside the saloon. The lieutenant stops and turns to look at the Sergeant in confident understanding between them, Sergeant please stay here. His words sound so hallow.

The lieutenant strolls toward the counter where a tall, dark-skinned barman is cleaning glass so vigorously. Dust of days of hard riding is floating of his blue uniform. The barman briefly raises his curious eyes to spy on the dust, then boredom drags his eyes away and back onto the glass. While the lieutenant spots the three men that he has come for. Their three blue uniforms are among the five who are leaning up against the counter. The lieutenant stops just behind the three men he has come for. He watches them so full of raw bitterness and pent up anger. He breathes so slowly so as not to let this anger boil over. For he must maintain a professional debonair. But if he had his way, as he argued with the Major at Fort Griffin. He would have left them to rotten in jail in Fort Hancock instead of having them transferred to Fort Griffin. So, to give them one last opportunity to make true soldiers out of them. One of the three is six feet and thin. He has long red hair and his holding a glass of beer in his very strong left hand. His name is Private Garston and the glass of beer in his hand does nothing to change the lieutenant attitude towards these men. But the lieutenant cannot help for a moment admiring the impressive Private Garston’s built then he dismisses this as being irrelevant. The man on his left side is slightly smaller, fat, with brown hair. He is holding a glass of whiskey in his left hand, Private Bentley. The man to the right is completely bald, with a strong face. He is the smallest but very muscular, which is Private Wayne. He has his two hands pressed against a glass of whiskey. His head is pressed downwards. So, that his eyes are locked and sealed downwards. So, to be staring at the whiskey in the bottle so tensely as if the whiskey is blessed with something so magical. 

Soldiers, you were ordered to wait, outside the saloon. Lieutenant Walter Cannon says, in a rough, dominating voice. No one said anything about drinking. Your records at Fort Hancock are a disgrace, fighting, drinking, disobeying direct orders, but let I make it perfectly clear and loud, I’ll not have my orders being disrespected, when, I give an order, I expect and demand that order to be carried out to the letter. Now turn around and salute an officer at once.

The tallest man continues drinking his beer, while the brown hair man turns around holding his glass of whiskey. He looks at the lieutenant as if he is inspecting some unusual insects that have just crawled into the place. Lieutenant Walter Cannon waits while Sergeant strolls towards him.

Now I gave you men an order, I expect it to be carried out immediately, now put those drinks down and fall in outside, at the double because you, men, will start acting like soldiers, if even you’re a disgrace to the uniforms, now soon as we get to Fort Griffin I’m writing report out, and you three men will be put on a charge, now is that clear and report will end you disgraceful army carry for good and hopefully it will result in you, three spending some time in an army prison and I can’t say  will not be glad for the army lives of orders. 

Private Bentley simply laughs, and the laughter cuts deeps into the lieutenant’s emotions. He squeezes his two hands together to control his frustration while Private Bentley says, is a tough, uncompromising voice, Now, listen here, officer get the hell out of here and take your pet dog with and let men do some really do drinking.

Sergeant Jarrod Sonnet tries to move towards the brown hair one. There is the maddening purpose in his movement. But Lieutenant Walter Cannon blocks him with his left hand and says, in a playful mocking tone, Now listen here Sergeant Sonnet, Private Bentley was addressing me, so I’m going to answer him, and so, please Sergeant Sonnet no more interfering, is that understood!

The sergeant stands perfectly still and mere watches the lieutenant while a smile scratches his face. Suddenly, Lieutenant Cannon swings his left fist towards Private Bentley. The muscles in his left-hand bulge, so powerfully and so energetically.  Private Bentley sees the punch coming but he cannot react in time to prevent the punch landing. The punch lands so pretty onto Private Bentley's face. Private Bentley staggers backward until he crashes into the bar. He jars his back so painfully against the counter. He can feel his legs craving to buckle while some tiny drops of blood drift slowly down his face. He swift runs his left hand over him. So, some tiny drops of blood are soaking into his fingers. He licks the blood of his finger so ravenously, while he smirks so arrogantly towards the lieutenant. He stretches himself upwards. He merely satisfied to breathe while he tenses up his muscles and thoughts. While he can hear men whispering and mumbling inside the saloon. The barman stops cleaning the glass and waits. Then he charges at the lieutenant, so icily and so calculatingly. Privates Garston and Wayne drop their glass onto the counter. Some of the whispers jump out of the glasses so wilfully. So, Privates Garston and Wayne move away from the counter to join the fight. Sergeant Sonnet swiftly unbuckles that slap on his gun. He can feel his five fingers touching are touching the top of his gun so smoothly. The gun feels so remarkable and lacking in any compassion for him. But still, He swiftly pulls out the guns. He swiftly raises the gun upward. He merely aims the gun at privates Garston and Wayne so determinedly and so wilfully, while saying, in a rough, uncompromisingly, Voice, That’ll do gentlemen, we desire a fair fight and so now two gentlemen as we were.

Private Bentley dips underneath Lieutenant Cannon’s well-aimed punch and then swiftly punching Lieutenant Cannon in his privates, causing so much pain. Private Bentley foolishly stands back from Lieutenant Cannon merely breathing in his minor success. A smirk punctuates onto his face. While the lieutenant rests on his knees trying to breathe without pain as some tears roll down his face. He wonders why the private is not taking advantage of the situation. This makes him so angrily for the private’s response as shamed his manhood.  This is feeding and giving him renewal strength and energy. Private Bentley comes swiftly into the lieutenant’s shadow to grab hold of him. So, he can pull his head down so coldly down to enable him to viciously swing his knee into the lieutenant’s face with as much force and power and brutality as possible. But just as the knee is swinging towards the lieutenant’s face when he manages to use is renewable energy and strength to able him to get his hands together. In hopes he can keep them there for the time it takes. So, he swiftly jumps his hands into Private Bentley’s leg and twits them so quickly. So, this causes the Private to fall onto his back and there, Lieutenant momentarily restrained by some guilt walking in his mind, thoughts, and emotions. But he sees and feels the necessity to ignore this guilt. So, he kicks Private Bentley twice his face, causing blood to shoot out of the Privates’ busted lips and so privates Garston and Wayne once more try to join the fight, but Sergeant Sonnet cocks his gun. He aims it with forced determination. He smiles at the two privates so desiring to join the fight.

Now, both men are standing up and facing each other. Both men are breathing so laboured and so torn emotionally. There is blood running down Private Bentley’s chin. He swiftly wipes his left sleeve over his chin and then closely inspects the blood on his sleeves. He shows the blood so proudly to the lieutenant and grins so insanely.

Am really going to bust you up Lieutenant, now. He moves so full of arrogance and confidence towards the lieutenant. The lieutenant merely waits with tiredness and raw boredom. Because he never expects the fight to last this long. For he is so used to punching an opponent maybe twice or three times and the fight would be over. But he has so far caught the private with at least five good punches on his face and body and yet still this Private is still more than willing to fight on and on. This annoys him and yet it truly intrigues. So, he is more than willing to continue the fight. It will test his manhood. The Private swings right and left fists toward the lieutenant catching him several, times. The lieutenant stands there in the land of being not so certain and so assured. While he trades blows with the Private’s fists, until the end both men are on their knees, still trying to swift punches, until Sergeant Sonnet is putting his gun away. The sergeant stands there watching Privates Garston and Wayne daring them to interfere. Now, the sergeant watches the lieutenant briefly before moving behind the lieutenant and placing his hands onto the shoulders of the lieutenant and pulling upwards and away from Private Bentley. While private Bentley staggers toward the counter with blood still running out of his busted bottom lip and down his chin. He picks one of the glasses of whiskey resting on the counter. He rests a glass of whiskey against his chest while the lieutenant forces the sergeant’s hands off him. Then the lieutenant staggers towards the counter. There the lieutenant picks up a glass of whiskey.

Lieutenant Cannon and Private Bentley are leaning up against the counter while they try to get their breathing under control and their two glass of whiskey waiting in front of them. Private Bentley swiftly picks up the two glasses and pass one glass to Lieutenant Cannon.

You a pretty decent fighter, I should know, I just love a good fight, well here’s to you, Lieutenant. Private Bentley consumes his glass of whiskey and then he turns throws his glass against the wall, so the glass is smashed into several pieces.

Lieutenant Cannon swiftly finishes his glass and turns towards the far wall holding his empty glass and says, in a serious, mocking tone, Well, Private Bentley all you fighting is the reasons for all the time you have spent in the army jail and when we get to Fort Griffin, my report include the changes of striking a commission officer and drinking and this time you will be spending a great many years in the army jail, now quick march. The lieutenant throws the glass across the saloon. The glass smashes the far wall shattering into several pieces. Then the lieutenant runs his left hand into his pocket and then he pulls out a silver coin and turns tosses the coil onto the counter.

Twenty-five horses are riding out of Tabletop as the wind is gathering up and small drops of rain are coming down. While the twenty-five men are holding the reins with much tension.  Some children are running along the boardwalk watching the soldiers leaving Tabletop. It is fun for the children watching the soldiers leaving the town one or two have decided to jump into the street to search for small red rocks to throw at the soldiers but once they are touching some small red rock it does seem to be of fun, so they dismiss this idea. So, they drop the small red rock back into the street. The children cannot see the soldiers anymore, so, now it’s time to go back to boredom because nothing really exciting in this town ever happens in this town.

The twenty-five horses reach the edge off long green, fresh grass. Some large flies are still plaguing the soldiers and the fly has been ever since they left the town of Tabletop. They ride into the long green grass while the flies stop plaguing them. Captain Parmelee is riding up front with lieutenant Cannon riding on his left side. The sky is clear and blue and there some dark black birds swimming towards the clouds, Lieutenant, I’ll not have a commission officer fighting with a listen, man, it’s bad for morals and confidences. So, now, Lieutenant please be good to ride at rare until your face has recovered. For I can bear it any longer looking at your disgraceful and dishonourable face. While he feels and senses the desperate need inside trying to control and manipulate his mind because of his need for whiskey is so strong, now.

The captain watches the lieutenant riding towards the rare with pure hatred in his eyes and heart for young lieutenant whose career in the army as only just started as his is a very disappointing career is closing. It is closing with so much bitterness and resentment. For the Captain is certainly he should be retiring with the rank of Major General, not a lowly Captain for it is people like the lieutenant who become Major General. This is certain as nothing to do with any talent the lieutenant made possess or any talent lacking in the captain. While the lieutenant to make at least to the rank of a lieutenant colonel due to his family connections while he has been permanently stuck on the rank of captain for most of his army career. It is certainly criminal for the army to deliberately waste of man is undoubted talent and skill and thinking. So, he is going to discover a way to routine the lieutenant’s career before it even gets started. Oh, with the help of that very reliable Corporal Brownson, even that Corporal Brownson can be at the time to familiar for his security and liking. The man has a nasty habit of forgetting his position in society as I and he could ever become friends. That the trouble with the likes of the Corporal Brownson of this world they are lacking in the intelligent to fully understand and appreciate the subtle difference between the levels in society. The captain turns his head slightly to look at the two men riding behind. He turns back because he is certain that it is safe for him to slip the bottle out of the saddlebag. He bits his bottle lip to easy the raw desperate need for the whiskey. He digs his left hand into the saddlebag so ferret-like. His shaking and shivering. His fingers can feel the bottle now. He fights inside to control the panic threating to gain control of him like some dictator. He pulls the bottle so slowly out of the saddlebag while holding the reins with his right hand. He holds the bottle against his chest, so secretly while he turns his head slightly once again and takes a swift look at the two soldiers behind. Now, he is certain that his secret is secure. He turns back, so relieved. He puts the reins in mouth and then holds the bottle with his left hand and takes the top off with his right hand.

The captain fights the desperate to shake and shiver while he hungrily starts to raise the bottle towards his lips. He fights to manipulate his shaking and shivering fingers while his fingers try to hold the bottle steady against the mouth. He forces his mouth to open. He manoeuvres the bottle so he can tip it and so he can drink the whiskey in one maddening go. He manages to force most of the whiskey down his throat. But some tiny drops manage to escape down his chin. This angers him greatly, so he throws the bottle so viciously over his shoulder. Then he hungry throw his fingers over the drops on his chin, while the empty bottle crashes into the grass behind him.

Private Dock and Corporal Brownson are riding their horses around the broken bottle. Corporal Brownson, should we not report that to Lieutenant Cannon? says, Private Dock in his young quite voice and yet this is an uttering of malice and resentment for the Captain in his voice.

Report what private Dock, what is there to report precisely?

Captain and his drinking.

Now, listen very carefully Private Dock, if you report that bottle to Lieutenant Cannon don’t expect me to back you up, because you’re on your own, because the Captain’s words are king and that drunk Captain will certainly put the blame for the bottle on you, Private Dock and so you put on a charge and if you think for one moment that I’m going to back you up, well. I’m not going to risk losing by two strides that I’ve worked so hard for. So, keep riding. 

Private Bentley his feelings his face so tenderly while he is searching and watching Private Garston drinking some water from his blue cantina so greedily.

When are we going to ride away from these bums, I mean this far enough.

It certainly tastes like a drink of water, for it’s too soon, that bloody posse will still be after us, so we’re safe riding with these bums as you called, them, for now, but the time is right, then we ride away from them.

"You figure that posse is trailing us? We were lucky to escape with the lives that could have been us, so easily lying in the streets of Red Dog so full of so many bleeding holes, oh, all shot up with all our blood soaking into the streets while the birds wait to feed on our bodies with our eyes opened but no signs of breathing any of us, like some unknowns. Jason McCall, he was hit so many times, it